Today at the gig I met "the Dorset castle hunter" who asked me the whereabouts of Marshwood Castle (where I had been on an archaeological watch survey recently). I told him it was on private land, and that he would need permission, and told him to go to English Heritage to find out more information. In between breaks at the gig (where I have received a small pay rise, in the two and a half years I have been working there, that still only amounts to less than 10% of the going rate for musicianship). [Today I played the best gig I have ever played in my life, and am extremely undervalued. For that kind of money they could get Wolfae wailing or the crazy cat lady screeching! Not a musician of extreme quality such as myself. I am so pissed off with the situation that I have resolved to wait until Ronulus (founder of Bone) kicks the bucket, and once he buys the farm, if I have not found a job which does not involved either unskilled labour "the spud b**tch" as they affectionately call my in my day job, or being exploited by these people: I will depart for France then Italy, then Spain, as it is easier to be poor, by the sun, and I know I can get gigs there. Ten years to this day.]
Anyway, back to cases. the Dorset castle hunter told me of two archaeological stories, fables, locally. Seemingly near Dodhams lane, Bridport, there was an archaeological discovery of some significance - a Roman pottery horde - and the builders just smashed it up. Also, out in Shipton Gorge was another archaeological discovery, gold coins and artefacts, most of which were kept by the person who found it (a farm hand), with only precious few finds donated to the local museum. This is a shocking travesty, and, if I do hang around to found the Marshwood Archaeological Society (in association with Arrowhead) then these are the sorts of things which we will have to tackle, lawfully, above board, and see that these precious historic finds are given to the proper owners.
I don't know, it's all a mess. I'm in Court on Monday for non payment of Council Tax, some two neighbours who are quite scary (especially the woman alcoholic) came round yesterday. I have two assignments overdue, shed loads of work to catch up on. After walking to and from Court (forty miles in the wind and rain), I have a house inspection, shed loads of rent to pay, no money to pay it. I am up the swanny. What I need to do is relax, focus, and just get what needs doing done. I just applied for another washing up job, which might get me out of the s-. Shakespeare? Paganinni? Get him on the kitchen sink, get him down the mines, best place for him, in this society.
I might have to leave for Froggieland sooner than expected if I am evicted, and that might not be a bad thing. Snail-side. At least they appreciate good music there (to the tune of two-hundred and fifty Euro), and are liberal with wine, women and waffles - of the Belgian variety. I am so pissed off. I have no freedom. No more future, unless I knuckle down, grow a pair of bollocks, and just get on with it. Nightmare.
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